Gustave Doré

[RebelEpsilon]

Paul Gustave Doré (January 6, 1832 – January 23, 1883) was a French artist, engraver, illustrator and sculptor. Doré worked primarily with wood engraving and steel engraving.

[RebelEpsilon]

The Old Testament

Adam and Eve Driven out of Eden


The Death of Abel


The Confusion of Tongues


Abraham Journeying into the Land of Canaan


Jacob's Dream


The Child Moses on the Nile


Moses Breaking the Tables of the Law


Destruction of the Army of the Amorites


Joshua Commanding the Sun to Stand Still


Samson Slaying a Lion


David and Goliath


Elijah Taken up to Heaven in a Chariot of Fire

[RebelEpsilon]

The Old Testament Cont'd

The Strange Nations Slain by the Lions Of Samaria


Destruction of the Army of Sennacherib


Ezekiel Prophesying


Triumph of Mordecai


Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego in the Fiery Furnace


Daniel in the Den of Lions


The Vision of the Four Beasts


The Destruction of Leviathan


The Vision of the Four Chariots


The Rebuilding of the Temple


Jonah Cast Forth by the Whale


Judith and Holofernes


Death of Eleazar


The Apparition of the Army in the Heavens


The Sermon on the Mount


Jesus Stiilling the Tempest


The Transfiguration


Resurrection of Lazarus


The Judas Kiss


Christ Presented to the People


The Crucifixion


The Darkness at the Crucifixion


The Resurrection


The Ascension


The Descent of the Spirit


The Vision of Death


The Crowned Virgin: A Vision of John

[Maynard James Keenan]

Holy crap. I think Im a Christian now.

[RebelEpsilon]

The Divine Comedy
Inferno

Dante astray in the Dusky Wood


The Doomed Souls embarking to cross the Acheron


Homer, the Classic Poets


The Souls of Paola and Francesca


Megaera, Tisiphone and Alecto


The Minotaur on the Shattered Cliff


The Violent, tortured in the Rain of Fire


The Descent of the Abyss on Geryon's Back


Dante addresses Pope Nicholas III


The Giant Antaeus lowering Dante and Virgil


Lucifer, King of Hell

[RebelEpsilon]

The Divine Comedy
Purgatory

The Company of Souls upon the Cliff


The Body of Buonconte da Montefeltro in the Arno


Dante, in a Dream, carried off by an Eagle


The Souls of the Proud, bearing Heavy stones


The Sinners passing through the Fire


The Elders in the Mystic Procession

[RebelEpsilon]

The Divine Comedy
Paradise

The Host of Myriad Glowing Souls


The Rings of Glowing Souls


The Soul of Cacciaguida Speaks of Florence


The Blessed Souls Cirling to Form Letters


The Blessed Souls Forming an Eagle in the Sky


The Angels Descending the Heavenly Ladder


The Sparkling Circles of the Heavenly Host


The Saintly Throng in the Form of a Rose

[Maynard James Keenan]

Stop posting these pictures. They are offending me a great deal.

[RebelEpsilon]

To me it sounds like you want me to post more, I shall do. I have yet to post a selection of the Paradise Lost engravings and there's some for The Raven too Y'know you love it.

[Maynard James Keenan]

If you do I will insult BOTH the musical act "The Gorillaz" and the childrens book "Where the Wild Things Are".

Looking at your avatar you cant dodge both. You will surely feel pain.

[RebelEpsilon]

If you do I will insult BOTH the musical act "The Gorillaz" and the childrens book "Where the Wild Things Are".

Looking at your avatar you cant dodge both. You will surely feel pain.

Damn you!

The avatar is Monkey though, from Damon Albarn's Monkey: Journey to the West, but yes, same artist.

[Faust]

I always thought you'd have to be infuckingsane to make engravings that detailed. I helped a girlfriend do some steel engravings once, and it kinda sucked. Do you know if Dore made a decent living doing this stuff?

[RebelEpsilon]

I always thought you'd have to be infuckingsane to make engravings that detailed. I helped a girlfriend do some steel engravings once, and it kinda sucked. Do you know if Dore made a decent living doing this stuff?

He had some pretty lucrative contracts for some publisher in London so he definitely made a decent living plus I think he also had around 100 people working for him but yeah engraving is hard, they must have had some ingenious tricks up their sleeves to produce work of this much clarity and elegance. Something about Victorian craftsmanship, somewhat perfectionist.

[RebelEpsilon]

Paradise Lost

No titles unfortunately.

[RebelEpsilon]

The Raven



Nevermore




Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.”



Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.



Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow



From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,



For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.



And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is, and nothing more.”



Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you.” Here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there, and nothing more.



Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
Merely this, and nothing more.



Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
“Surely,” said I, “surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
’Tis the wind, and nothing more.”



Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,



In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door;



Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door;
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.



Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore.”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”



Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,—
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never—nevermore.”



But the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore,
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”



Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!



Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore!”



“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—



On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore:
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me I implore!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”



“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”



“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—



“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”



And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming;
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

[Phoebus]

I really like 'The Raven' illustrations, a couple of the old testament ones are excellent too

[The Paineful Truth]

About 20 years ago, I found a 19th century 9x12 copy of Don Quixote in a junk store with Doré engravings (I think I paid $8). I'm always tempted to take them out and frame them. I just saw a reprint in B&N, and the quality was so bad, the publisher ought to be strung up. I know from that, that these the illustrations here, as interesting as they are, you can't do them justice.

But anyway, this is kinda close.

[dupko]

Those pics,are so awesome,